


An irreversible progress of existence that moves from the past through the present and strives toward the future

by saderaladon



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bondage, But still mostly homo, Cock Slapping, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Dirty Talk About Feces, Double Anal Penetration, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Foot Fetish, Ginger Fish is a martyr, Heterosexual Sex, Highly Metaphorical Love Confessions, John 5 is a filthy sweetheart, John 5 plays guitar, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Poor Ginger Fish, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Smoking, Threesome - F/M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Tim Skold is not a role model, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, but he is learning, good communication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 17:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19089889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saderaladon/pseuds/saderaladon
Summary: This one is just a 20 days long PWP.Also bubbly.





	An irreversible progress of existence that moves from the past through the present and strives toward the future

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. 
> 
> So I actually had a horrible ending in mind for this fucking novel, but then decided to be good and wrote a long ass PWP instead.
> 
> Warnings!
> 
> This is a sequel to two other fics of mine:  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/18934837  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/19015726
> 
> Which you totally will have to read first to understand why weaponized plutonium is suddenly romantic, because only half of this text is actual content, the other half is references. Sorry, I know it is 65 thousand words to digest to get to one crappy PWP. But there's a whole lotta sex in there too, so let's look on the bright side of life.
> 
> This text is a sugar bomb.  
> Certain individuals finally get a driving license for their emotional battle taxi, certain other individuals chill out on a plate which is just their home by now and John 5 is away playing guitar for two thirds of this story, but don't worry, then he comes back and is complicit.  
> There're more notes on his whereabouts at the end of the text.
> 
> There're several sex related things happening in the text that one is not to try at home.
> 
> There are conversations about human feces being conducted. The actual shit is absent, but the talk is pretty explicit.
> 
> Let us all get through this marathon alive.  
> Let us all be happy.
> 
>  
> 
> English is not my native language and I love to stand corrected.  
> These guys are all fictional and don't belong to me.

Sunday

 

"Hey, you want bacon?" Tim asks, when Ginger enters the kitchen, face pale and wrinkled.

Ginger puts his fingers through his dirty hair.

'Yeah, sure," he says, falling onto the chair.

Tim stands, leaning on the table, and watches him, while he eats, slouching. He lights up a cigarette.

"Hey, you want a threesome?" he asks.

Ginger jumps on his chair, and some of his green tea gets spilled.

"What?" he asks, looking up at him in surprise and indignation.

"A threesome. With a lady, you know. Want one?" Tim says and downs his coffee.

"Fuck, Tim. What kind of a question is that? Give me that smoke."

Tim shrugs and puts a cigarette in his mouth, brushing his lips. Ginger pushes his hand away.

"Don't know. We haven't done that in a while. I like having threesomes with you."

"Fucking hell," Ginger says, taking a drag and sitting up. "Yeah, I guess. If we could. I mean, it is not like you can call and order one on the phone. Threesomes just happen sometimes."

 _Yeah, how little have you learned_ , Tim thinks, grinning.

"Maybe in your universe. In mine I can just ask some lady friends of mine if they want to join us. Send them a picture of your dick too. That would definitely draw a lot of attention."

Ginger laughs.

"Fuck off," he says. "Okay. If you want to. Won't that be weird though?"

"Nah," Tim says. "I mean, I won't make you fuck right away. We'll make sure everybody likes each other first. Hang out a bit and everything."

"Oh. Alright."

"Glad that your approve," Tim says and takes out his phone. "Let's take a picture now."

Ginger pushes him away.

"Fuck off, Tim. I am not sending fucking dickpics to anybody."

Tim laughs and grabs him by his hair.

"I wasn't talking about your dick. Let's take a picture of your dumb face. You know, not all of my friends know how you look. That is important information to offer when planning a threesome. The woman might want to sit on it."

Ginger laughs, and Tim awkwardly takes a picture of them, flipping the phone, cigarette in his mouth.

"Fuck, we look horrible," Ginger says, looking at the blurry result. "Nobody will want us. Maybe we should take a shower first."

"Fuck it. We take that shower before we meet the lady. Also, honesty is good. Honesty is commendable. I mean, it won't spoil anything, because I so will be informing everybody that you have a big dick."

Ginger elbows him and they fight for a minute or so, Ginger ending up half bent with Tim's hand pressing on his head.

"Calm down. Or I'll tell them it is "biggish". People will laugh."

Ginger snorts, and Tim lets him go.

 

He writes several letters to his friends.

"Done. You gonna read your philosophy stuff?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind," Ginger says from the couch, a book in his hand. Tim deliberately avoids looking at the title, not willing to discover it is something he might be interested in reading too. There won't be anybody to help them this time if the book worms accident happens again, and they've been living in absolute filth for quite a while already.

"No problem. I'll just do some work."

They spend the day like that, Ginger reading on the couch, Tim talking to people he promised things, listening to their songs and shitting on them in two languages.

They get the first answer right before Tim gets up and goes to the kitchen to make some lunch. It doesn't look reassuring.

"Okay, maybe you were right," Tim says, looking at the email. "Maybe nobody wants us indeed."

Ginger puts his book on the couch and comes to his computer to read the reply.

"Happy for your friend. You can fuck off," Ginger reads out loud. "Fuck, did you seriously write about my dick?"

"Yeah, why not?" Tim asks, lighting up a cigarette.

"Because then you get answers like that, for example."

"Nah, that's not because of that. I probably did some shit and never apologized."

"Fuck, you're a horrible creature," Ginger says, going back to the couch.

"Yeah, but I cook like a shark god," Tim says, goes to the kitchen and makes an awesome lunch like a shark god he is.

 

Next three replies are not very promising either.

"Fucking unbelievable," he says, checking his email.

"What?" Ginger asks, looking at him over his shoulder. He's watching something on TV.

"It seems that everybody is out of town. Fuck. We're like the only two people left here. To rot, no doubt," Tim says, getting up.

"Fuck it, then," Ginger says and gestures him to come closer. "Come here. Let's just watch something."

So they watch a dumb movie, Tim trying to touch Ginger's cock and Ginger pushing him away. Then he cooks again, Ginger sitting with him in the kitchen, playing with fucking carrots and cutting letters on them with a knife. Neither of them takes a shower.

 

Tim checks his email before they go to bed to be pressed into each other, all sticky and smelling.

"Hey! Finally," he exclaims.

"What? Did somebody actually agree?"

"Two somebodies. Alana writes here she was sure you had a big dick from the very first time you two met and will be very pleased to see us both. Remember Alana?"

"Yeah," Ginger says, coming closer.

"Though it is actually no help to us, because she can only join us next month. Some vagina problems. But I've put it on our schedule."

"Fuck off," Ginger says, laughing and pushing him. "And who's the other one?"

"Jules."

Ginger looks at him for a couple of seconds.

"Oh, right. You haven't met Jules yet. That was John. Want me to tell you something about her?"

Ginger nods. Tim lights up a cigarette.

"She's an artist. A painter. Some experimental style. Looks to me like beginning of 20th century stuff. She runs a gallery. Should be forty six or forty seven now, I think. Chill. Witty. Light brown hair. Delicious pussy," he finishes, grinning.

Ginger sighs.

"And what fucked up thing is she into?" he asks, looking at Tim like a goddamn martyr.

Tim laughs.

"No fucked up things, actually. She's pretty vanilla. I usually just eat her out and she orders me around. Doesn't let me do things. Calls me by my last name to screw with me. Fuck, I can bet you'll like her. We should've done it sooner. You know, to pay you off for all the shit you had to suffer on my behalf," Tim says.

"Okay," Ginger says. "We'll see. When are we meeting her?"

"Saturday. She says we can swing by the gallery first. If you're interested. I mean, of course you are fucking interested. Gonna be asking your stupid questions and everything," Tim says, turning off the computer and putting out the cigarette. "Fuck, I am so going to be suffering on Saturday."

"Okay," Ginger says, smiling. "We'll need to have a proper wash, though."

"Yeah, sure," Tim says and grabs him by his arm. "Come on. Bed. Your stupid cock. My aching hole. Sleep."

 

 

Monday

 

"Jesus, Tim. Are you touching me again?" Ginger says sleepily, shivering a bit in his arms.

"Well, you're fucking hard again. Of course, I am touching you," Tim says, grabbing at the cigarette pack on the nightstand. "Come on, flip over. Head on my shoulder. Wanna look at you jerking off."

Ginger groans like a wounded sea animal and turns around, his head landing on Tim's left shoulder. Tim smells his hair and lights up a cigarette. Ginger throws off the blankets and puts his hand around his cock.

"Just go slowly. I expect at least ten solid minutes of entertainment," Tim says, grinning.

"Fuck off," Ginger says, but slows down anyway.

"Yeah, well, I am not happy to be awake at this ungodly hour. I am not happy about this whole situation we're in as well. I need some magic in my life. Some magic and some squirming squid goo agony."

Ginger groans again and then moans, his hand starting to move faster.

"Hey. I said go slowly. Yeah, like that. Show me how you do it when I am not around," Tim says, puffing out the smoke.

"I don't fucking remember how I do it. You're always around," Ginger says and shivers in his arms several times.

Tim laughs.

"Want some lube?"

"Yeah, my fingers are fucking dry," Ginger says, voice coming out breathy.

Tim lifts him off himself, bends, takes the bottle off the floor and resumes his position.

"Give me your hand," he says and pours some lube on Ginger's palm.

"Fuck," Ginger says, wrapping his hand around his cock and moaning. "Fucking hell."

"Slow down. Touch the tip."

Tim watches him jerking off for a while.

"Hey," he says, a thought crossing his mind. "When we first started fucking..."

"Yeah?" Ginger asks, turning his head to look up at him.

"Did you jerk off to that?"

Ginger goes red. Tim chuckles.

"You did, didn't you? Little shit."

"Fuck off."

"Hey. Slow down. Your shift is not over yet. Rub at the base. Fuck, that looks great."

Tim lights up another cigarette.

"So what did you think about? You know, when you were jerking off back then."

Ginger moans and shakes a bit in his arms, his hand moving faster for a couple of seconds. Then he wills himself to slow down.

 _That Schopenhauer shit might actually be doing him some good_ , Tim thinks, grinning.

"Tell me."

"Fuck. Don't know. Thought about you touching me. Staring at me with that fucking shark face of yours like I am your food. Imagined kissing you like a giant moron I am."

Tim laughs.

"God, you're a fucking virgin," he says. "Anything else?"

"Fuck," Ginger says, his head pushing into Tim's shoulder, his back arching slightly. "Put my hand... Put my hand over my mouth and pretended it was you. Fuck, Tim."

Tim chuckles.

"Cool. That's much better. Wanna smoke? Your sexy honesty deserves some benefaction."

"Fuck you. Yeah," Ginger says, panting and letting go of his cock.

"Here," Tim says, shoving a cigarette in his mouth. "Put your hand back where it belongs, though. It is just a smoke. It is not general pardon."

"Fucking hell," Ginger says, wrapping his hand around his cock again.

Tim lets him smoke for a bit.

"Okay," he says, taking the cigarette away and putting his hand into Ginger's sweaty hair. "You may resume your activities."

Ginger shakes a couple of times, his hips jerking up, then he bends one of his legs.

"How long are you going to fucking torture me?" he asks, moving his hand slowly.

"Donno. Three more minutes. Maybe five," Tim says, pulling at his hair slightly. "I want you worked up."

"Fuck," Ginger says and moans again. "I'm gonna fucking come right now."

"Nope. You're gonna come a bit later. Actually, do you want some help?"

Ginger shudders at that, his shoulders under Tim's hand going tense.

"Fuck, Tim."

"Yeah, I'll help you. What part of your miserable body do you want me to touch?"

Ginger's head presses into Tim. Tim looks at the muscles of his abdomen flexing.

"That is not helping, Tim. That is making my life even harder," he manages.

"Come on. Want my fingers down your throat? Want me to touch your ludicrous kinky feet? Want me to hurt your nipples?"

Ginger moans at that, and Tim chuckles.

"Okay, then. Nipples it is. And slow the fuck down. You're not enough of a squid jelly just yet."

Ginger curses him and the day he joined the band. Tim watches him jerking off for another minute or so, puffing out the smoke, then putting the cigarette out in the ashtray on the nightstand.

"Okay. Pathetic seizure time. Sit up. Lift your arms a bit," Tim says, and both of them shift. "You ready? I'm gonna hurt your nipples and you're gonna come. Alright?"

Ginger makes an incoherent noise, shaking and sweaty next to him. Tim puts both his hands on his nipples and pulls, twisting them hard. Ginger presses into him with his whole body, head falling onto his shoulder, and comes, moaning with an open mouth.

Tim's nuclear arsenal feels very much in active use and needed.

 _Fuck the cold war_ , Tim thinks. _We're so going in, guns blazing._

 

They sit pressed into each other for a minute, Ginger catching his breath, Tim just looking at his shattered body in front of him.

"Fuck," Ginger says. "Do you want me to jerk you off?"

"Nope," Tim says, nudging him to move. "Not with your gooey hands. Just open your mouth and look at me. I'll take care of my own torture, thank you very much."

He comes some seconds later, both of them lying on their sides, facing each other, Ginger's mouth open, lips soft, Tim twisting his cock in an unforgiving grip of his own hand.

"Fuck," he says, after he's finished. "You fucking stink, Ginger."

"Yeah, I know. You too," Ginger says, smiling at him.

 

They spend the day together, Ginger trying to clean up the mess they've been creating around themselves for these last two weeks, Tim helping out some people and answering letters. Both of them try calling John, but he doesn't pick up. Neither of them takes a shower. They fall asleep pressed into each other, all sweaty and sticky once again.

 

 

Tuesday

 

Tim passes up the opportunity to fuck Ginger in the morning, disentangling himself from him and his tentacles, and then takes a long ass shower, scraping at his own dirty, come covered skin for thirty minutes.

He leaves Ginger to watch some dumb reruns on TV and goes to the studio to meet Brian, who's been harrassing him on the phone for god knows how long.

They argue and throw some stuff on the floor.

 _This day might not be so bad after all_ , Tim thinks, grinning and shoving Brian into the wall.

"By the way," Brian says, when their battle is over. "Do you know where Ginger is? He's not answering his fucking phone."

"At home," Tim replies without thinking.

"No, I tried the landline too. It's like he is dead. I need him at the studio ASAP."

 _Fuck_ , Tim thinks, the nuke in his chest grinning for him.

"He's gonna be at mine today in the evening," he says. "I'll tell him, okay?"

"Thanks, man," Brian says, and they argue and throw some stuff on the floor a bit more.

 

They sit in the kitchen, smoking, after Tim's magnificent dinner has been devoured without using any forks.

"Oh, hey," Tim says, remembering. "Brian wants you at the studio. He's been calling you forever. Even tried the phone at that spider factory of yours."

"Fuck," Ginger says, exhaling. "I'll need to go there and fucking clean it again one of these days."

Tim chuckles.

"You know, I keep thinking maybe I should just sell it," Ginger says, looking at him.

Tim stands up and leans on the table.

"No, you shouldn't."

Ginger squints at him.

"Why not? I am here all the fucking time."

"You know, for my next fuck up. I have a long and shameful history of those. I'll do some shit and you'll have to run somewhere. And no, you won't be able to go to John's, because I will be there, begging for absolution."

Ginger laughs.

"Okay," he says. "But fuck, I really need to go and clean the shit out of that place. Do you even remember the last time I was there?"

Tim does.

Tim doesn't really want to answer that question.

He shrugs.

"Yeah, but I don't want to remind you. You know what you should do to that house, though? You should totally let a gang of criminals run an illegal weed growing lab in there."

 

They hang out on the bed later, Ginger tapping some tunes on the book he is not reading, Tim playing with his cock.

Tim takes him in his mouth and goes down a bit, gagging himself for a moment.

"Fuck," he says, lifting his head in one swift motion and even jumping a little. "How do you and John even do that without throwing up?"

Ginger hums.

"I think John knows some tricks," he says contemplatively. "And you just press my fucking head with your hand and keep me there, so like what else can I do?"

Tim snorts.

"Do you have any idea how many times I tried? Never works."

"It's not like anybody is asking you to, you know," Ginger says, looking down at him.

"Yeah, but I don't like being the slow one," Tim says, grinning, and Ginger laughs. "Also, I'd love to choke on your awesome fucking cock. It would be like a birthday present."

"You don't celebrate birthdays."

"I would, if that was my gift," Tim says, lighting up a cigarette. "Can you even begin to understand how often I stuffed my hole with two cocks at the same time just to compensate for this pathetic failure of mine?"

Ginger's face becomes a bit weird. Tim looks at him and sits up.

"What's up? Are you jealous or something?"

Ginger shrugs.

"Don't know. You're not joking, are you?"

"Nope," Tim says, puffing out the smoke. "I've done a shit ton of double penetration. That a problem?"

"No, of course not," Ginger says and smiles at him. "Just... Fuck, you know, it is intense when we do it. For me."

"Yeah, everything is intense for you," Tim says, grinning. "You come all over yourself because I touch your lips."

"Fuck off," Ginger says. "I'm serious. I freak out every time we do it. And John does too. And you talk about it as if it is nothing."

Tim bites his lower lip and thinks for a moment.

"It is not nothing. It is different every time. Like, many times I was just drunk and stupid. The first time was... Well, I turned into a shark jelly, to be honest. I'd been seeing this older married couple, and the wife really had a thing for wearing a strap-on. Fuck, that was hot," Tim says, laughing.

Ginger smiles at him.

"And you know, some other times it is just fun with people you've known for years. Like, let's see who can stand on their head and then let's see if we can fit both of these cocks into Tim's hole. Which, turns out, they totally could."

Ginger chuckles.

"So, as I said, it is different. Just like any other sex. And it is intense with you guys for me too, if you need to know. Fuck, we're so doing that when that Judas comes back."

"Okay," Ginger says, lying back on the bed. "I think I got it."

"Good," Tim says and puts out the cigarette. "So are you gonna gag me with that awesome cock of yours or not?"

"Fuck," Ginger says, shaking with laughter. "It's gonna suck. I suck at this."

"Come on. I mean, I can ask John. But it is more fun with you."

"Yeah, because he'll agree and with me you get to push," Ginger says, propping himself on his elbows. "Okay. Fuck you. Okay. Let's try it. Just don't fucking vomit on me."

"Why not? First of all, you're probably gonna like it no matter what. That's how smitten with me you are."

Ginger laughs.

"And second, you need a shower anyway. Brian wants you, remember?"

"Fuck," Ginger says. "Okay. Alright."

 

They try for five minutes, Tim suppressing the urge to throw up, Ginger guiding his head.

"No, that's not gonna work," Tim says, sitting up. "Not with your tender fucking tentacles."

"Sorry," Ginger says, looking at him. "I love you."

Tim rolls his eyes.

"Maybe we can try it with John," Ginger offers.

"Yeah, but I said I wanted you," Tim says, squinting at him, baring his teeth.

"No, I mean, maybe John can gag you on my cock."

Tim laughs.

"Oh, you're dirty today. This is some nice thinking."

Ginger turns red.

"Yeah, that might work. We'll need to piss him off first, though. Get his hands angry."

"You can steal all of his guitars," Ginger says, smiling.

"Yeah. Or I can tell him I'm going on a hunting trip to shoot some baby lions."

Ginger snorts.

"But, for that we'll have to wait."

"Yeah."

"In the mean time, I'm gonna suck you off the best way I currently can, okay?"

Ginger shivers, and Tim dives down. He sucks him until Ginger starts shaking. Tim lifts his head for a second.

"Hey, do you mind if I stick my fingers up your ass? Wanna feel you clenching while I suck you," he asks, licking his own teeth.

"Fuck," Ginger says. "Don't know. I mean, you won't be able to talk."

"Hm," Tim says and gives Ginger's cock a long lick. "Well, just imagine what I would say, you know."

"I uh... I don't want to freak out."

"Okay," Tim says, licking his fingers. "Listen up. Shit, shit, shit."

Ginger laughs softly and moans, when Tim pushes the fingers into him.

"Fuck, you are tight. And also full of warm diarrhea, by the way," Tim says, grinning.

Ginger shudders.

"Fuck, gonna come," he pants out.

"Sure you will. You come every time I stick my fingers into your crap," Tim says, moving his hand.

"Fuck, Tim."

"Yeah. Clench your shithole. Come in my mouth," Tim says, bending and sucking Ginger's cock in.

Ginger does what he's been told. With some nice additions.

Tim lifts his head, looking at his shaking legs, pulls out the fingers and licks them, wrapping his hand around his own cock.

"Don't move," he says. "Gonna jerk off to you being a pathetic shitmess."

Tim does what he's promised. With some nice additions.

"Jesus, you need a fucking shower," Tim says, wiping his hand on Ginger's thighs.

Ginger laughs.

"In the morning, okay?" he says, pulling Tim close.

"Alright, you dirty shitsquid," Tim says.

They sleep pressed into each other, Tim's face in the sweaty mess of Ginger's hair.

 

 

Wednesday

 

Tim passes the opportunity to fuck Ginger in the morning, kicking him out of the bed instead and making breakfast, while Ginger scrubs at his skin in the shower for thirty minutes.

Brian keeps Ginger at the studio till the very evening, Tim occupying himself with cleaning the kitchen and throwing away all the stuff that's gone bad, and there is a lot of it. He starts reading the book Ginger's just finished, then puts on the jacket that is both his and Ginger's and sometimes even John's and buys some vegetables at the store.

 

"Sit down," Tim says, pushing Ginger onto the chair. "I've made you some mashed French bullshit. Figured you wouldn't be able to chew."

"Thanks," Ginger says, his face pale, eyes tired. "Fucking Brian."

Ginger eats his disgusting soup, Tim watching him, leaning on the table.

"Started reading your book. It's good."

"Yeah."

"Fucking delighted I didn't discover that earlier."

Ginger laughs.

 

They hang out on the bed, Ginger eating peanuts, Tim whistling some tunes, both too tired to fall asleep right away.

"Flip over," Tim says, sitting up and nudging Ginger. "Wanna see how you fuck the mattress."

Ginger groans.

"I've been raped enough today," he says, flipping over.

"Yeah, this is one hundred percent consensual," Tim says, grinning. "Come on. You're hard anyway."

Ginger laughs and squeezes his hand between the bed and his stomach, touching himself.

"I need lube," he says, looking at Tim over his shoulder.

Tim gets up and takes the lube from the shelf where Ginger put it when he was cleaning. From the shelf that is as far away from the bed as possible.

Tim comes back to the bed, chuckling.

"Give me you hand," he instructs. "Sneaky bastard. You don't hide the fucking lube from me, okay?"

Ginger groans into the pillow and gives him his palm. Tim pours lube on it.

"Come on," he says, running his fingers over Ginger's back. "Fuck the mattress. I'm gonna watch."

Ginger puts his hand back under his stomach and starts grinding into it, first slowly, then picking up the pace. Tim traces his fingers over his spine, and Ginger moans. Tim pushes his head into the pillow for a few seconds, then yanks him up by his hair, his neck arching.

"Fuck, Tim," he pants out, voice sounding wet.

"Yeah, I am having massive fun too," Tim says, grinning, not releasing his hair.

"Gonna fucking come," Ginger says, grinding into his own hand pressed to the bed.

"Wait," Tim says.

"Fuck," Ginger says, shakes and stops moving.

"Spread your legs wider. Wider. Yeah, like that."

Tim awkwardly opens the lube with one hand and pours some on his fingers. He rubs at Ginger's ass.

"Fuck," Ginger says, moaning. "Tim. Tim."

"Yeah, I know. Shit talk. Filth, crap, feces. Fuck, I love how you take it. I should just fuck you all the time, you know."

"You already fuck me all the fucking time," Ginger says and starts moving his hips slowly.

Tim laughs and pulls at his hair harder.

"Come on. Fuck the mattress. Come with my fingers in your dirty shithole. I'm gonna watch. I'm gonna be so entertained."

Ginger moans and quickens the pace.

Tim feels his chest purr, releasing deadly radioactive elements into the atmosphere, when Ginger starts clenching around his fingers, coming with his name on his lips.

 

He wipes Ginger's come and his slick fingers on his own shirt, after Ginger flips over.

"I love you," Ginger says, looking up at him, licking his lips.

"Shut up," Tim says. "Slap my cock. I need to produce my own comebath after this fucking spectacle."

They lie on the bed, facing each other, and Ginger slaps him, his hand shaking, for a minute or so, until Tim's eyes become wet. He pushes Ginger's hand away and beats off, gripping his cock tight, coming after a few seconds, moaning, Ginger's mouth on his own.

"Fuck," he says, soiling his shirt even more. "Fucking hurts."

Ginger shivers.

"How many times was that?" Tim asks, pulling him close and hugging him.

"Don't fucking know. Why do you always expect me to count?" Ginger says, his voice sounding a bit angry.

"Because I know you do."

"Fuck off. Seventeen."

Tim hums.

"Thank you," he says, and they sleep, pressed into each other, sweaty and sticky in various places again.

 

 

Thursday

 

They fuck in the morning.

Tim is a bit slow in his arousal, his cock still aching from last night. Ginger is sleepy and whining.

Tim pulls him up to sit on him, straddling his thighs.

"I'm just gonna play with your cock a bit and look at you, okay?" Tim asks, smiling at him.

Ginger shivers and nods, his hair hanging loose in front of his face. Tim runs his fingers over his shaft, circling the tip, pulling a little, scratching the underside.

He does that for quite a while. He is not in a hurry.

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger gasps out, his legs shaking slightly. "Wanna kiss you."

"Fuck," Tim says and pulls him down by the arm. "Okay."

They kiss, Ginger licking into his mouth as if it is full of whiskey and Ginger's an alcoholic lost in the desert. And maybe they actually are.

Ginger slides up his body, Tim's by now hard cock ends up between his cheeks. Ginger rocks his hips and shivers, pulling away with a moan.

"Tim."

"Yeah?" Tim asks, looking at red spots forming on his face.

"Fuck, Tim."

"Need me to talk?" Tim asks, pushing his hips up. "Okay. Rub your shithole on me. I want your filth on my cock."

Ginger's mouth falls agape and he moves, rubbing himself on Tim's cock, trying to steady himself with his hands gripping his thighs.

Failing spectacularly at that.

"What?" Tim says, grinning. "Want me inside? Want me to fuck your filthy shit up your tight scared fucking hole?"

Ginger moans, stumbling a bit.

"Fuck, Tim," he says, panting.

"Say it."

"Fuck. Fuck, Tim. Yes. I want you to fuck me."

Tim laughs.

"Get off me, I'll find the lube. Who am I to refuse when you ask so nicely?"

Ginger sits on the bed, breathing audibly, while Tim ransacks everything around them, looking for the bottle.

"Finally!" he exclaims, locating the treacherous thing inside a pillow case. "Come on."

He lies on his back again, nudging Ginger to sit on him.

"Should I finger you?" he asks, opening the lube. "Or do you want to dive into your mess yourself?"

Ginger moans and presents him with his shaking hand. Tim chuckles and pours the lube into his palm.

"Okay," he says, looking at Ginger's hand disappearing behind his back. "Both work for me. Come on. Stretch yourself. Fuck your shit. Be miserable."

 

He has to wait a bit and offer some more excrement fueled encouragement before Ginger finally starts riding his own fingers, shaking and not knowing what to do with his other hand, staring at Tim's face, looking lost.

Tim laughs, lifting his hand and tucking Ginger's wet hair behind his ear, then touching his lips, Ginger opening his mouth right away, letting him in and moaning.

"Fuck, you're easy," Tim chuckles, smearing saliva around his lips. "How's the shit fucking going?"

Ginger gives a shudder, Tim's hand falling out of his mouth, and then grabs at Tim's cock, his movements frantic, and tries to get it in, hands jittery and slick.

It is most definitely early for that.

Tim is most definitely not going to stop him.

Ginger lowers himself on his cock, and it is jarring and painful for both of them. There're several misses at the beginning, Ginger cursing and Tim laughing at him and calling him a shitfailure. Then Ginger just stumbles and falls onto his cock with his hole in one motion that is not smooth at all.

"Fuck," he says, his eyes going wide and wet. "Fucking hurts."

Tim feels that radioactive decay in his chest is going to last at least fourteen billion years.

"Yeah," he says, moving his hips up. "Hurts me too. Come on. Fuck yourself. Fuck your pathetic shit on me just like you wanted."

Ginger starts moving, swaying and losing his balance, hurting both of them again.

"Fuck, Tim," he says, moaning. "Fucking hurts."

Tim pushes his hips up again and bares his teeth, grabbing Ginger's hands and pulling him down.

"Yeah, I know. Good. Fuck yourself. Let's break your fucking shitdam. Let's fucking drown in your filth."

That line turns out to be one of his best ones yet, inspiring a helpless seizure that reminds him of early days and fills his imploding chest with nostalgia.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck. Tim. Tim," Ginger manages, shaking on Tim's cock, Tim crushing his hands with his fingers. "Gonna come. Don't let me go. I love you. I fucking love you."

Tim offers him his best shark smile and starts fucking into him too, moving his hips, Ginger jumping, falling off momentarily and then grinding back down, crying out and coming after ten seconds, eyes wet and completely black, clenching around Tim and convulsing.

"No, no, no," Tim says, not letting him fall off his cock and sitting up, wrapping his arms around him. "Don't you stop. Fuck yourself a bit more. Fuck yourself on me. Make me come."

Ginger shudders, but starts moving again anyway, whining through gritted teeth.

"Fuck, Tim, it hurts," he says, pressing his face into Tim's shoulder.

"Yeah," Tim says, lifting him up and pushing down. "I know. Keep doing it. Make me come. Make me come into your shit."

Tim comes with a blast some seconds later, crushing Ginger in his arms, Ginger sweaty and panting on top of him.

They sit like that for a while, hugging, pressed into each other, Tim's cock gradually slipping out of Ginger's hole, Ginger shivering and Tim smelling his hair and touching his own teeth with his tongue.

"Wanna smoke?" he asks, lifting Ginger's head off his shoulder.

 

They spend the day together.

Tim drags Ginger out to buy some food, but then they get distracted by god knows what and end up walking for two hours, going in circles, Ginger's hand in Tim's pocket: pool of hot milk and scared fingers touching his palm. They go back and sit at home, both still hungry, Tim doing some work, Ginger in his headphones listening to something. Then Ginger says he's starving, and Tim puts on the jacket that is both his and Ginger's and sometimes even John's and goes out hunting for food again.

He cooks dinner with one hand, cigarette hanging off his lower lip, Ginger sitting right next to him with no pants on, two of Tim's fingers in his mouth the entire time.

They eat and smoke in the kitchen, Ginger telling him something, then Tim drags him to sit beside him at his computer and writes a letter to John with one hand, palming Ginger's naked cock with another.

He entitles it with "we did it fluffy today", Ginger laughing softly next to him, and spills out their morning exercise, describing his horrible inner thoughts more than actual events, Ginger following the words appearing on the screen with his eyes, breathing audibly, his cock twitching under Tim's fingers.

"Wanna add something?" he asks, looking at Ginger's feverish face after he finishes.

Ginger swallows hard.

"Tell him I love him," he says, licking his lips.

"Yeah, he knows. I am not spoiling my amazing porn story with a marriage proposal at the end," Tim says, chuckling, but then adds the line anyway, clicks "send" and stands up, nudging Ginger to stand up too. "Bend over. Spread your cheeks with your hands. Gonna lick your fucked up shithole."

He feels Ginger's hand shake next to his own and grins.

"Have I ever told you I feel like there is an atomic fucking bombing happening in my chest every time I get to ruin you?" he asks, showing Ginger his teeth.

"Fuck," Ginger says, his mouth falling open.

"Sweet of me, right?" Tim says and pushes him again. "Come on. Bend over. Gonna lick your ragged hole till you come."

Ginger does what he's been told, his legs shaking slightly. Tim sinks on his knees and looks at his ass. Which is just a little bit red and not even swollen. Which is not what Tim tells Ginger.

He licks at him experimentally, then pulls away, Ginger exhaling sharply.

"We totally ruined your crappy ass today, you know? I'll have to eat your fucking shit now to even get to your hole."

 _I am definitely more of an evening person_ , Tim thinks, looking at Ginger shuddering in front of him, his fingers white on his butt. _That morning line wasn't bad. This line deserves to be set in fucking stone._

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger manages. "I'm gonna fucking fall. I can't stand like that. Fuck."

Tim licks at him again, taking his time.

"No, it is all fine. You're gonna stand like this, okay? You're gonna give me your aching hole and I'll lick your shit until you come because of that, alright?"

Ginger moans, and there is a sobbing quality to the sound.

"Fuck," he says, panting.

"Yeah," Tim says, moving closer. "Just take it like I tell you."

 

Tim eats him out for five minutes, never stopping, just covering Ginger's strained fingers with his own hands, Ginger getting soaked in his own sweat after the first two, shaking like an epileptic, never quite pronouncing Tim's pretty short name.

He comes with a wail, Tim feeling his hole clenching under his tongue, thinking for a second or two that Ginger is actually going to just collapse right there and then.

That is not his plan.

"Hey," he says, pulling away. "Don't move. Don't you dare fucking move. Keep your hands where they are."

He hears a new sound coming out of Ginger's mouth. He is surprised it is supported by laws of physics in their current universe.

"Gonna look at your open shithole, okay? Gonna come looking at you, Ginger."

Ginger makes that sound again, louder this time.

"Fuck," Tim adds, wrapping his hand around his cock and starting shaking himself. "Fucking hell. Ginger. I'm so gonna come right now. I'm so gonna kill a whole bunch of innocent people with my A-bomb just looking at you."

Ginger's legs shake and he starts falling. Tim grabs him with one hand, squeezing tight, and shoves his face back between his cheeks, coming into his own fist, no doubt annihilating a lot of civilians in the process.

He lets Ginger fall onto the floor after a few seconds, wrapping his arms around him, both of them sweaty and shivering. Ginger moves, turning around, and starts kissing him, moaning into his mouth, Tim's hands in his wet hair.

It is definitely more than two kisses.

Tim figures it just might not be that bad, after all, feeling his chest melting and Ginger already a hot squid jelly in his arms.

They sleep pressed into each other, Tim's hand between Ginger's cheeks, Ginger's sweaty hair on his face.

 

 

Friday

 

They fuck in the morning.

Well, first they fight in the morning, Ginger trying to push Tim away, once Tim discovers his hard cock and starts touching him.

"Fuck, Tim, I seriously can't anymore," he says, looking up at him, face red, Tim holding his arms and putting his weight into him. "I've fucked more these last three weeks than I did my entire fucking life."

"So? That's still a pathetic number, you virgin," Tim says, grinning. "Come on. I'll jerk you off with my heartless fingers."

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says, sitting up after Tim releases him.

"Come on. We will do me for a few days, okay? I'll be sweet to you. Provide you with a Nice Tim experience or whatever you dumb moaning fucks call me behind my back."

Ginger laughs.

"Deal? Gonna kiss you and everything. Confess my eternal fucking love for you. Drop on my knees. Give you a ring."

"Yeah, a fucking cock ring," Ginger says, snorting, and Tim laughs too.

"That is a good idea, Ginj," Tim says and pulls him to straddle his thighs. "Where's the damn lube again?"

Ginger gets the lube, which is under the bed, bending in half, his ass in the air, Tim looking at him and giggling.

"Okay, pour some here," Tim says, offering him both his palms.

Ginger does, and Tim wraps both of his hands around his cock, stroking him.

"Fuck," Ginger says. "Fuck, Tim, that's good."

"Yeah, I know. Come on. Move. Fuck my accommodating hands," Tim says, gripping him tighter.

Ginger starts moving, losing his balance quickly.

"Damn, you're an awkward fuck," Tim says, chuckling. "Put your hand on my shoulder. I'm feeling generous."

Ginger does, gripping him tight, and speeds up, cursing and moaning and saying Tim's name.

"Coming?" Tim asks, looking up at him.

Ginger nods, his head shaking, hair falling onto his face.

"Wait," Tim says. "Tuck your hair behind your ear. Yeah. Now pull your mouth open for me. Wider. Like I would. Good. Go on."

Ginger comes a few seconds later, Tim squeezing his slick hands around him, looking at his teeth on display. Ginger falls on top of him and Tim wipes his hands on his back.

"Fucking happy now?" Ginger asks, squirming at the touch.

Tim laughs.

"I am not displeased," he says, rubbing his shoulders. "But this is just morning tactical exercise. The real horror awaits you in the evening."

Ginger groans and after they have breakfast goes to perform his spider extermination duties.

 

Tim spends the day walking around the house, kicking stuff found in abundance on the floor, finishing Ginger's book and listening to some bullshit music out of spite. He tries calling John a couple of times, but he doesn't pick up again. He sits at his computer clicking on random links, bored and smoking all the time, until the pagan gods show him some mercy and provide him with something amusing.

He sits back in his chair, chuckling, and plans his nuclear assualt, touching his lips and sucking his own fingers.

 

"I need a shower right this second," Ginger says, once he is through the door, sweaty and tired. "That house is a disgusting dumpster."

Tim shakes his head.

"No. Fuck showers. You're going to fall face forward in my amazing meatballs, pun intended, and then we're going to do some online shopping, you and I."

Ginger looks at him, not quite following his words, but following him into the kitchen.

 

"You okay? Can you stand now?" Tim asks, looking at Ginger lying on the couch, his arms thrown wide, hand touching the floor.

"Fuck, Tim," he says, sitting up. "Never do this to me again. Please. Fuck. Next time you feel like cooking just fuck me instead. Alright?"

Tim smirks and lights up a cigarette.

"I can do both," he says and grabs Ginger's hand. "Come on. I've found something today I think you'll like."

They sit next to each other at Tim's computer, Tim shoving a cigarette into Ginger's mouth too.

He clicks on the link.

"Fuck. The fuck is that?"

Tim laughs, looking at Ginger, and puffs out the smoke in his face.

"It's called a fleshjack. And we're so buying it. We're so shoving your awesome motherfucking cock in it."

Ginger shivers next to him, almost dropping his cigarette.

"Fuck," he says. "That thing is freaking me out. That thing is freaking me out more than you do."

"No," Tim says, grinning, clicking at the pictures. "I am freaking you out with that thing. That is just a device in my heartless hands. Which is where it is also going to be when we jerk you off with that, by the way."

Ginger whines through gritted teeth.

"Just tell me which one you want," Tim says, unable to contain an enormous shark grin forming on his face.

"I want to die," Ginger says, going red.

"Later. Which one? I think the mouth one. We can put some black motherfucking lipstick on it and fuck it really hard for all of our miserable suffering here."

Ginger laughs softly.

"Fuck. Okay. Whatever. You're fucking crazy. This is fucking crazy."

"I fed you squid on multiple occasions and you're still surprised by me?" Tim says, swinging his arm around Ginger's shoulder. "Glad to know I still have some aces up my sleeve. Let's check out some cocks."

"Fuck," Ginger says, shivering. "I am fucking hard."

"Yeah, I know you are," Tim says, chuckling. "Anyway, check these out. I'm fucking tired of that space dildo getting lost all the time. It wasn't at your arachnid kingdom, was it?"

"No," Ginger breathes out. "Probably at John's. Or somewhere around this mess here. This house is a fucking dumpster too."

"Yeah, well, we will just have to brace ourselves for a bit longer. We're fucking depressed and forsaken, after all."

Ginger laughs and then chokes a bit.

"Fuck," he says, squinting at the screen. "What the fuck is that thing?"

"A tentacle," Tim says, putting his hand into Ginger's hair and pulling a little. "A tentacle just like one of yours."

Ginger moans at the touch.

"Yeah, I liked it too. But, I also kinda like this one. It's glass. I had glass up my ass a couple of times. It's awesome. So don't know which one to choose."

Ginger shivers a little, then grabs at his package and lights up a cigarette, his hand shaking slightly.

"Fuck. I don't know. Don't ask me anything. I am fucking pathetic. I'm gonna come in my pants right now."

"You are not wearing any," Tim says, scraping his scalp with his fingers. "Should we just buy both of them? One for each of us. Provided we find the space one."

Ginger moans, his hand with a cigarette falling helplessly.

"Okay. Whatever. I'm still fucked," Ginger says, shaking next to him. "I am still getting fucking ruined."

"No, you'll be alright. We're doing me today," Tim says, adding the items to the basket and typing in the address. "Just like I promised."

Somehow Ginger is not exactly pleased to hear that.

 _I wonder why that might be_ , Tim thinks, grinning.

 

Ginger fucks him with his tender loving tentacle covered in enormous amount of lube they dig out of a pile of their filthy pants. It is not quite his whole fist, but it is close. Tim suffers gloriously, looking at the ceiling with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, moaning, deep and low, explaining Ginger the difference between fission and fusion, even though it is somewhat hard to keep his narrative coherent.

Tim thinks Ginger still gets his idea, because after he comes, arching, pressing his head into the mattress, eyes wet, sweaty and helpless, slapping himself a couple of times across the face, Ginger falls on top of him, shaking and completely soaked himself, and whispers in his ear, asking him if he can fuck him.

"Need you ask," Tim says, feeling blood in his mouth. "You can also take your sweet time doing it, you know."

Ginger doesn't manage to pull that off, but Tim still gets fucking hammered. _Hammered._ His face also gets devoured and his throat stuffed full of moans, but it is something he expected all along.

Ginger comes into his stretched hole, hot and tender, shuddering, washing over him like boiling plasma from the center of the fucking sun.

Tim chuckles after he's done, brushing his wet hair.

"You happy?" he asks, flipping them to lie on their sides and groaning, stretching his legs. "Did I deliver?"

"Fuck you," Ginger says and hugs him, pulling him close.

They sleep, soiled, filthy, ruined, pressed into each other, nuclear bond tight between them.

 

Saturday

 

They don't fuck in the morning.

They take off the sheets off the bed and tuck them into the darkest corner of the house they can find. Then they both get into the shower, scraping each other's skin for close to an hour, getting hard in the process, but deciding to keep the energy for later.

Tim makes them breakfast, Ginger watching him like he is second coming, until Tim promises he'll slap him.

They go to the gallery first, arriving at around two. Jules gives them the tour, Ginger asking her all sorts of questions and thoroughly enjoying everything that is happening, because Jules tells Tim he isn't allowed to smoke and he isn't allowed to swear either, and Tim is not sure how Ginger is doing in there, but he is definitely getting hard.

They drink some coffee at the cafe afterwards, Jules telling Ginger about her trip to South America, Ginger listening with an open mouth, Tim thinking that this rhythm section is so getting laid today.

They order another round.

"Kenny," Jules says, and Tim goes from hard to fucking stiff. "I am sorry to ask so bluntly, but would you mind sitting for me?"

Ginger makes a noise.

"It is just your face is perfect for the kind of portraits I like to do."

"Okay," Ginger breathes out. "Sure."

"It is nothing heavy. I mean, you won't have to sit motionless for hours on end."

"Alright," Ginger says.

"And you, mister Skold? I hope, you don't mind either?"

Both of them excuse themselves to go to the bathroom after that on account of shaking like government funded construction sites for the poor in an earthquake.

Ginger smokes two cigarettes, hanging out of the window over the sill, while Tim holds his head firmly shoved into a sink, cold water running onto his overheating skull.

 

They go to Jules's house, and Ginger sits in a chair in front of her, a sketchbook and crayons in her lap, while Tim walks around the house, looking at stuff without touching anything, because he is not allowed even that.

Then Jules takes her shoes off and puts her feet on the coffee table between the chairs, and things start happening.

Tim circles both of them like a shark, smelling blood, looking at Jules's painted toenails and at Ginger's pathetic face.

He lands on the arm of Ginger's chair and puts his hand into his hair, pulling a bit. Ginger makes a sound that is quite frankly embarrassing. Tim goes from stiff to fucking aching right there.

“Is something wrong?” Jules asks, taking off her glasses and putting down her sketchbook, looking at them.

“Nope,” Tim says, grinning. “It is just _Kenny_ here is a giant foot fetishist.”

Ginger moans, his shoulders shaking under Tim's hand.

"Fuck," he says.

Jules laughs softly, looking at him.

"Alright," she says, getting up. "Just give me a minute. But no swearing, please."

She goes into the bathroom, both of them listening to the sound of running water, Tim's hand travelling in Ginger's hair, Ginger telling him he hates him.

 

Tim genuinly tries to play it cool, sitting there on the arm of the chair next to Ginger. But Jules comes back, sits in hers and puts her feet back up on the table, smiling and gesturing Ginger to do what he clearly wants to, and then Ginger moves closer to the edge of his chair, bends and starts sucking her toes, closing his eyes at the touch and then forcing them open again, looking at Jules, face getting shattered, a moan escaping his lips.

Tim goes thermonuclear.

"Fucking hell, I need a fucking cigarette," he says, jumping up. "Jules. I am fucking begging you."

She laughs at him.

"Calm down. And don't swear. We're having a moment with your friend here," she says, Ginger moaning at that again. "That is really very nice, Kenny."

Tim bites his lip and hugs himself by the shoulders.

He looks at the fucked up feet worshipping session going on right before his eyes, Jules touching her own hair, smiling at Ginger, Ginger looking back at her, making all sorts of sounds.

Tim thinks he hasn't known such a suffering since quite some time ago.

"Kenny, dear," Jules says, and Tim feels his legs starting shaking. "Can you stop for a second?"

Ginger lifts his head, sitting up, hands twitching in his lap, the outline of his erection clearly visible.  
Tim starts to think that he is not surviving this thing alive, when Jules gets up and pulls off her jeans and underwear.

"Fuck," he says despite himself.

"Mister Skold, please," Jules says, laughing at him and sitting back in her chair, spreading her legs and putting one foot on the table. "Don't spoil this lovely thing we're sharing with your friend. This is way too good to listen to your filth. Kenny, you can go on. I hope you don't mind if I touch myself?"

Apparently, fucking _Kenny_ doesn't mind anything, falling face forward onto the table, licking her sole again, looking at her rubbing her clit, then looking at Tim and moaning, eyes going black.

Tim bites into his own hand, hard.

"Mister Skold, stop that," Jules says, her voice coming out breathy. "We still need your hands for later."

"Jesus, Jules. I seriously need to eat your damn pussy right now."

"It is not a damn pussy, mister Skold. It is a vagina. And no," she stutters at that, mouth falling open. "I have other plans. Come here, please. Rub my shoulders."

Tim obliges, standing behind her, pressing his fingers into her shoulders and staring at Ginger and his dumb blissful fucking face.

 _That is just Lisa all over again_ , he thinks. _I'm gonna come in my fucking pants._

 

He does, but not right away, first just standing there, stiff and suffering like he predicted with his premonitions skills he is not currently happy he has, watching Jules come instead, her fingers rubbing her clit, her head pressing into his exploding chest, Ginger's eyes moving down and up, looking at her pussy and then at Tim's no doubt haunted fucking snout, Ginger himself moaning, deep and low.

Jules gets up a few seconds after her orgasm, Ginger sitting up too, shaking and gripping his own arm with his hand, Tim digging his fingers into the back of the chair. She kisses Ginger on the lips, Ginger's head falling back, his throat exposed, and asks him if he wants to lick her.

Apparently, Ginger does, so she puts her leg onto the arm of his chair and guides his head gently, Ginger shuddering at the impact, squirming, grabbing his cock and coming in his pants, Tim following him a second later, half bent, gripping the chair and pressing his hand into his own miserable fucking cock.  
He falls down on his butt after that, hearing how Jules thanks Ginger, Ginger moaning something incoherent back, Jules saying she'll bring some water for all of them. He sits on the floor, leaning on the chair, his eyes closed, until Jules puts a glass in his hand and helps him up.

"You can go smoke on the balcony," she says, smiling at him. "Kenny is going to sit for me some more. Do you mind cooking something for all three of us? You know your way around my kitchen, don't you?"

Tim complies, going out of the room like a zombie shark on really unsteady feet, sparing a last glance at Ginger, sitting there in his chair, being ruined like he does best, and enters the kitchen. He feels like sinking his teeth into raw flesh, but there is no meat to be found anywhere in there, so he promises himself that once he builds his pagan temple there is going to be human sacrifice in there and vegetarians are going to be the main part of it. Then he smokes three cigarettes on the balcony and just makes an awesome quiche.

 

Jules shows him the portraits she's done and he tells her he kind of gets her point about Ginger's fucking face, that one without pronouncing the word "fucking", though, and then they eat at the table, drinking white wine, Ginger sitting next to him, touching his hand with his scared fingers and then just putting his head onto his shoulder.

Jules laughs softly at that.

"You are not just friends, are you?" she asks, looking at them.

"Nope," Tim says. "We're so going at it with each other."

Ginger snorts.

"Are you two in an open relationship?" she questions them some more.

"More or less," Tim says, taking a sip of his wine. "But there are actually three of us."

"Oh?" Jules asks.

"Yeah, there is another guy. John. Remember John?" he asks. "You've met once."

"Sorry, I don't think I do," she says.

"Blond. Black lipstick. Cute. Awful shoes."

She laughs.

"Alright, now I remember. He is rather pretty."

Ginger sighs at that, and Tim pushes his head off his shoulder.

"Why didn't he join us?" she asks, sipping her wine. "Not interested?"

"He's out of town," Ginger says.

"Yeah," Tim concurs. "We are so being abandoned right now, you know. Living in filth. Heartbroken. Me doing horrible stuff to him just to pass the time."

Ginger laughs at that and Jules smiles.

"That's why we decided we needed a friendly face," Tim adds. "And some other friendly body parts too."

 

They get to the bedroom an hour later, both Jules and Ginger undressing and Tim sitting in the chair, watching them, stiff and suffering and not even smoking.

They kiss, Ginger licking her neck and her breasts, Jules fondling his cock, and then she rides him face to face, Ginger sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand rubbing her clit. Tim brings them lube before they start fucking, slicking Ginger's cock and laughing at him, Jules smiling and saying it is indeed a bit bigger than she imagined. She comes riding him, his mouth pressed in her neck, and then she pushes him to lie on his back and rides him some more, until Ginger comes too, turning his head to look at Tim, opening his mouth, Tim wondering if that is accidental or done specifically for him and feeling a nuclear disaster approaching climax happening in his chest. She sits on top of him afterwards, both of them laughing softly and panting, until Tim comes closer and lands next to them.

"I guess I am not getting any today," he says, looking at them, showing his teeth, but he is wrong, because Ginger asks Jules to move and then flips over, all gooey, unzips Tim's pants and takes his cock into his mouth, moaning.

"Oh," Jules says, her eyes going wide.

"Fuck," Tim says. "Sorry. This is bigger than me."

She swallows, looking at Ginger licking him.

"That's alright. Fuck indeed. You don't mind that I watch, do you? This is... Oh. This is really..." she trails off, touching her own hair and biting her lip.

Tim shakes his head, swearing, and Ginger just moans around him, whatever that might mean. Tim puts his hand into his sweaty hair and guides his head, careful not to push very hard, because that probably wouldn't meet Jules's high standarts of proper conduct either. He touches Ginger's lips instead, pulling at them a bit, brushing against his own cock, Ginger shivering, his moaning becoming lower, tilting his head so that Tim can look at him, and then Tim comes, spilling come into Ginger's mouth and all the fucks he's been keeping inside him that day into the air.

He hauls Ginger up and hugs him, Ginger falling on top of him, Jules lying down next to them too, head propped on her elbow.

She laughs softly, looking at them.

"Entertained?" Tim asks, smirking.

"Well," she says, smiling. "Certainly better than theatre."

Ginger snorts, face pressed into Tim's shoulder.

"I wish I could come two times in a row," Jules says. "That was... I definitely would like to see that again."

"Okay," Tim says. "We're around, if you want us. Just give me a call. If we're not on tour, we'll come visit. Right, Ginj?"

 

When they leave later, after chatting for several hours, all three of them lying in bed, Jules and Ginger drinking more of the wine, Jules kisses Ginger in the doorway and shakes Tim's hand.

"Thank you for the invitation, mister Skold," she says.

"Any time," he replies, grinning.

"Kenny, thank you so much too. It is nice to discover some things about yourself at my age," she says.

Ginger blushes and nods.

"Say hello to your other friend for me when he gets back," she says. "I'd love to meet him again."

They get into the car and Tim pulls two cigarettes out, lighting them up and shoving them into their mouths.

"We're so having a foursome when that guitar jerking traitor is finally home," he says, a shark grin on his lips.

Ginger laughs, his head lolling back.

"God. Tim," he says, looking at him. "Can we fucking kiss?"

So they kiss, Tim exhaling the smoke into his mouth, Ginger's tender tentacles holding his shoulders, his fingers light and trembling.

"I love you," he says, when they part.

Tim rolls his eyes, starts the car and they go back to their filthy house. They sleep pressed into each other, Ginger a pool of squid goo next to him, Tim dreaming of mass destruction and John's lipstick covered face.

 

 

Sunday

 

They don't fuck in the morning, Tim announcing that Sunday should be observed as a day of rest, at least till the evening and then it is going to be worship time, Ginger laughing at him and pushing him off the bed.

They spend the day together, going out for a couple of hours, eating doughnuts out of of a box sitting on a bench, holding hands like idiots, Tim whistling John's tunes and Ginger sighing, then reading one of Tim's books in Swedish on the couch, Tim translating out loud from the page, then eating another dinner of Tim's that leaves Ginger panting, lying on the floor, Tim sitting beside him, smoking and poking him with a drumming stick as if he is a half dead jelly squid washed onto the sand by waves and Tim's a cruel spoiled blond scum child. And maybe they actually are.

Before they go to sleep Tim ends up on his back again, spreading his legs and letting Ginger eat him out, slapping his own cock too many times and feeling Ginger's tongue jumping every time he does it, coming into Ginger's mouth, Ginger's fingers deep in his hole, stretching him.

He makes Ginger lie on his back after that and rides him, fucking himself on his cock and hurting himself a bit in the process, because the lube is nowhere to be found and because he wants to get hurt, Ginger looking up at him and moaning, face shattering into a familiar pattern, Tim slapping him without counting until he comes hot into his hole, grabbing Tim by the arms and crushing him in his own.

They sleep pressed into each other, sweaty and tired, their heads on the same pillow, their breaths mixing.

 

Monday

 

They fuck in the morning, Tim demanding some of the sixty nining he's not been getting enough of, standing on his hands and knees over Ginger, sucking his cock, Ginger lying on his back and mouthing at his, neck arching, coming after just a few minutes and apologizing for his poor multitasking skills by letting Tim fuck his face, a pillow under his head, both of Tim's hands in his messy hair, Tim spilling into his throat, saying his name and talking about his lacking tactical defense to fuck him up even more.

They spend the day together, Ginger not talking to Tim, not because he is angry with him, but because his mouth is fucked raw, smiling with his ruined lips at him and drinking ridiculous amounts of green tea with mint till it is early afternoon, while Tim talks with Brian on the phone, shitting on his lyrics, and writes some letters. They have lunch and then sit on the couch, watching something dumb, when somebody rings a doorbell and Tim goes to open the door, receiving a package wrapped in black paper sent from an address he doesn't recognize and then going back to open it, completely oblivious to its contents on account of being a thoroughly fucked and really grief-stricken shark, or at least that's what he tells himself later.

 

"What's that?" Ginger asks, sitting up, when Tim comes back from the kitchen with a knife and throws the box on the couch.

"Donno," Tim says, stabbing the thing. "Hope it is not John's guitar jerking hands sent to us by his kidnappers in order to rip us off."

Ginger starts laughing, but then chokes on his own breath, because there aren't any hands in the box, but there are definitely some cocks.

Tim grins and licks the knife.

"Okay," he says. "I have a great idea about how we should kill the rest of this miserable day. Quite possibly the rest of this miserable desolation too."

Ginger groans and covers his face with his hands at that.

 

"Stand on your knees," Tim instructs Ginger after some physical altercation and cock sucking. "Okay, now put your hands on the mattress behind your back. Yeah, like that, rest your weight on them. Sit on your feet."

"This is fucked up," Ginger says, looking first at his own cock and then at him.

"Of course it is. You're gonna like it," Tim says, smirking and pouring lube into the fleshjack. "So listen up. I'm gonna hold it and you're gonna fuck into it, alright? But slowly. I don't want no jittery rabbits here. Of all the animal kingdom I only fuck squid."

"Fuck. I don't think I can even move fast standing like this like a fucking moron," Ginger says, looking at the fleshjack in abject horror that Tim thinks he should see on his face a bit more often these days.

"Shut up. I'm telling you you're gonna like it. You come best when I make you do it like a fucking moron. I think being uncomfortable makes you hot," Tim says, getting closer and gripping the lubed thing firm with both hands.

"Fuck you," Ginger says.

"Shut up. Come on. Move. I'm gonna watch you squirm. I fucking promise you you're gonna be squirming." Tim says, baring his teeth at him.

Ginger slowly complies, his cock gradually disappearing in the fleshjack. He moans.

"Fuck. Fuck, it is tight."

"Yeah? Cool. Now fuck into it. Be ridiculous. Make me laugh."

"Fuck you," Ginger says, his head lolling back for a second, his hips starting to move slowly.

He moans again after a few moments. Tim chuckles.

"Yeah, not so fast. Slow down. We have the whole evening to kill."

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says, panting a bit. "I'm never gonna come if I do it slowly."

Tim snorts.

"You? Not gonna come? I'll start playing fucking banjo in a cover band that very day," he says, looking at Ginger's parted lips.

"Fuck," Ginger says and slows down, fucking into the fleshjack, his head falling onto his shoulder and then back, his gulping throat presented to Tim.

"I wanna bite your throat," Tim spits out, not able to control himself, the nuke in his chest acquiring its target. "Fuck, I just want to rip it open. Fuck, Ginger."

Ginger shudders at his words and moans, his hips moving faster again.

"Hey!" Tim says. "Slow down. I should have fucking tied you up."

"Fucking hell," Ginger says, lifting his head and looking at Tim. "I wanna come. Fuck, Tim."

"I am not saying you won't," Tim says, touching his teeth with his tongue. "You will. But later. When I say so. Okay?"

"Fuck," Ginger says, shivering. "This has to be fucking illegal."

"Probably," Tim says, smirking. "But who's gonna report me?"

Ginger manages a laugh, then moans.

"Fuck, Tim, I really want to come. This is too fucking slow."

"Shut up. Look at your cock."

"Fuck. This thing is fucking weird."

"Sorry I couldn't find the lipstick," Tim says, chuckling.

"Yeah, like that would have made it better," Ginger says, speeding up again.

"Hey. Behave. Look at your cock. Yeah. Feel free to imagine it is my hole."

"Fuck. Fuck, Tim."

"I know. Mine is not that tight, not anymore. Not with all the fisting I've been pushing you into giving me. But a boy can wish," Tim says with a grin.

"Fuck. Tim. Tim. I can't, okay? I just fucking can't."

"Stop whining. It's only sexy when John does it. You're good when you're squirming."

Ginger moans, his head falling back again.

"Just a bit more, okay? I want you a bit more ruined. Then you're gonna come. I promise," Tim says, looking at his throat and tasting blood in his mouth.

"Fuck. We definitely shouldn't be left alone in the fucking room," Ginger says, panting.

"Well, the supervisor's gone for now. But don't get your hopes up. He's filthy. He's gonna want to jerk you off with this thing too," Tim says with a smirk.

"Fuck. Tim. Oh fuck. Tim. Tim."

Tim hums.

"Okay, I think you're ready to be served, Ginger. Look at me. Fucking look at me. Okay. Don't try to move faster. Slow down. Do you want me to fucking slap you?"

Ginger moans. Tim laughs.

"Sorry, hands are a bit busy. But you'll come anyway. Open your mouth. Wider. Wanna see your teeth. Fuck. Ginger."

Ginger shudders. Tim grips the fleshjack tight in one hand and lifts another one, touching his own lips.

"Look at me. I'm gonna touch my fucking mouth. I'm gonna touch my mouth like I touch yours. Like I touch yours when you suck me. Like I touch yours and make you come because of that."

Ginger starts shaking. Tim licks his thumb, smirks and brushes it over his lower lip, pulling at it a bit, smearing saliva.

"Fuck. Fuck, Tim. I'm gonna come."

"Yeah, I know. Told you. Just look at me."

Tim repeats the sequence again, circling his own lips with his wet thumb. Ginger's eyes go black and he moans, deep and low, coming hot and painfully slow, his whole body shaking, his head lolling back. Tim lets go of the fleshjack when Ginger starts falling on the bed and grabs him by his hair in one motion, as if propelled by the nuclear blast in his chest that is tearing him apart, pressing his open mouth over Ginger's throat and twisting his own cock, coming in twenty seconds, feeling very much like a giant ball of burning gas that destroys everything in its way, but with teeth.

 

"Fucking cannibal," Ginger says, curling around him with his sweaty body, Tim hugging him, his face in his hair.

"We're different species," Tim says, chuckling softly.

They sleep pressed into each other, Tim's hand migrating to lie on Ginger's throat over the course of the night, Ginger's heartbeat he feels under his fingers present in his dreams, spreading through the vastness of the ocean.

 

 

Tuesday

 

They have a cock fight in the morning, Tim getting up and bringing the box to the bed, Ginger snatching the glass dildo and slapping Tim with it, Tim managing to pull out the tentacle one and poking him everywhere he can reach, both of them laughing and then hugging in the middle of the room, Ginger asking him to postpone his imminent anal downfall.

Tim obliges and goes running in the park instead, Ginger going out with him and reading on the bench there, Tim making lewd comments every time he passes him, Ginger throwing nuts at him. Then they go to a mall and hang out around there, though Tim is not sure how they've even been allowed to enter it, people staring at them and Tim telling the most outrageous spectators that life of drugs, sex and industrial metal has done it to them, so better go to church right fucking now. Ginger buys them burgers and they eat at the table, being disgusting, poking fries into mozarella sticks and throwing dirty napkins at each other, both talking to invisible John in the seat next to them, a chocolate milkshake neither of them touches on the table in front of it.

They go back home, Ginger reading fucking Nietzshe and Tim playing a dumb game with a remote control, losing almost every round, until Tim says this is way too depressing and demands some sinful sodomy in very impolite terms.

They stretch Ginger using both of their hands, Tim grinning and pushing Ginger's fingers with his own deeper than it is strictly necessary, Ginger pale and feverish in front of him, hair falling onto his face, repeating his name over and over again after Tim says something reassurring about Ginger's hole being full of filth and repulsive. Then Tim quickly stretches himself, while Ginger tries to get the glass dildo in, both hurting themselves in the process, Ginger because he is an awkward fuck, Tim because of camaraderie, Tim laughing and insulting Ginger, Ginger being a shaking squid goo. Tim shoves the tentacle dildo up his own ass once Ginger is successfully impaled on cock and still somehow shocked by it as if it is his first time all over again, and then they just ride their respective skewers watching each other and holding hands like complete idiots, Tim talking about shit all the time, Ginger moaning and trying to kiss him. Ginger comes first, when Tim presses a hand over his mouth, and Tim quickly follows suit, jumping on his tentacle cock and beating off, gripping his own cock tight, looking at steaming Ginger mess floating in the clowds on the bed beside him.

They lie on the bed after that for something close to an hour like two dead sea creatures with their limbs thrown wide and their faces pressed into the mattress, until Ginger's stomach starts growling. Tim drives to the nearest supermarket, comes back with a shit ton of meat and makes them steak, medium well for Ginger and rare for himself, both of them eating it without using knives or forks and then smoking in the kitchen, sitting on the floor, Ginger sighing on Tim's shoulder and Tim telling him it is all going to be over soon.

They sleep pressed into each other, shoving their faces into John's ridiculous scarf they've found while looking for lube earlier that day.

 

 

Wednesday

 

They don't fuck in the morning right away, just lying there and smoking instead, then having breakfast in the kitchen and smoking there as well. Tim asks Ginger to shave his head, so Ginger does, Tim bent over the sink, and then he stands on his knees on the floor, sucking Ginger off, Ginger scraping his scalp and pulling at the remaining mess on top.

They both go to the studio to be molested by Brian, who questions them on their washing habits and demands to know what kind of drugs they've been doing, Ginger performing a really loud and obnoxious drum solo for ten minutes instead of answering and Tim pushing Brian into the wall.

They chill out on a bench near the studio afterwards till it is dark, Tim sliding down with his legs spread wide, Ginger just straight forward lying on it, his head in Tim's lap, Tim combing his hair with his fingers that are constantly getting stuck there.

"Come on, let's go," Tim says, nudging Ginger to get up when the air around them becomes colder. "I wanna look at how you fuck yourself on that tentacle thing."

Ginger gets up at that very moment and tries running away from him, laughing like mad, swinging around the trees, Tim catching him after a while, both of them ending up on the ground and absolutely soiled.

 

"This is fucking weird," Ginger says, looking at Tim sucking the tentacle cock.

"Yeah," Tim says, lifting his head. "Wanna try?"

Ginger stares at him with indignation, but then sucks it a bit as well, Tim chuckling and whispering 'autofellatio' into his ear.

Tim goes hunting for lube, while Ginger starts stretching himself with his own saliva, moaning, Tim complimenting his feces, shouting at him from across the room, then joining him with his fingers covered in lube up his ass. Ginger manages to get the dildo inside without causing himself injury this time, lying on his back and shivering, feet up in the air, Tim licking his soles. Tim gets a good look at Ginger fucking himself with the thing up close, touching his stretched hole with his fingers and giggling like John most likely would, Ginger getting lost in the fucking woods. After he is satisfied with that he sits next to Ginger, holding his head and pushing his cock into his mouth, Ginger fucking himself on the dildo, beating off and moaning around him, Tim biting his own fingers, coming after a minute of this, Ginger doing the same right after him, Tim's cock still in his mouth, Tim's fingers touching his throat.

They lie pressed into each other for quite some time after that, jittery and unable to sleep, and finally pass out when it is almost dawn, both in absolute ruins.

 

Thursday

 

Tim wakes up, feeling the gentle touch of Ginger's scared fingers on his palm. He groans, takes the fingers into his hand and turns his head to look at Ginger.

"It's today, isn't it?" Tim asks. "I am not confusing anything, am I?"

"Yeah," Ginger says. "I think it is."

"Fuck, I sure hope you're right," Tim says, and they lie in bed for a while, both on their backs, smoking, looking at the ceiling and holding hands.

 

The morning seems to go on forever, of course, neither of them able to occupy themselves with anything, just walking around the house and touching stuff.

They drag their asses out at around lunch time and go to the store, stuffing their faces with bread and milk on their way back, then walking around the house some more, until Tim decides to go cook dinner, Ginger following him into the kitchen with a book he doesn't even open.

 

When John finally arrives at their house Tim almost jumps and claps his hands with his genuine body parts, and Ginger just runs to the door, stumbling.

"Jesus," John says, standing in the doorway in his hideous sunglasses even though it is already dark out. "You two look exactly how I feel."

He gets inside and Ginger falls into his arms, slouching and sliding down his body, Tim standing leaning on the wall, puffing out the smoke.

That goes on for approximately fourteen billion years.

"Don't you want to hug me too?" John asks, when Ginger stops hanging onto him like a drowning man.

"Nope," Tim says, smirking. "I have a reputation to maintain."

John laughs, and Ginger laughs too.

"But I'll feed you and I'll fuck you, you can be sure of that," he adds, turning around. "Come on. Kitchen."

 

They get into the bedroom two hours later after all of them can stand and John tells them that their house is a fucking dumpster and they are a pair of tramps for god knows how many times.

Then John is on his hands and knees like Tim was pretty sure he would be, Ginger fucking him from behind, saying stupid things into John's ear, John pushing back and whining, asking Ginger to fuck him harder and licking his lips, demanding Tim's cock in his mouth.

"Sorry, changed my mind," Tim says, sitting on his heels in front of John, his head pulled up by Ginger's accommodating hand. "You'll get my cock later. I'll just look at your beautiful fucking face for now, alright?"

 _Your beautiful fucking face I missed so much_ , Tim thinks.

John lets out a wet breath and gives him a teasing smile, which reminds Tim of one Ginger was getting back then at John's transsexual birthday party, plutonium in his chest imploding instantly.

"Tell me how much you like Ginger's cock in your treacherous hole," he says, smirking and lighting up a cigarette, his stiff cock just leaking on the floor, his hand cupping John's chin, fingers brushing his lips, smearing saliva.

John does, going into incredible detail, talking about anal extermination, blushing, his eyelashes fluttering, whining on Ginger's cock, Tim looking at him, his face no doubt just a shark snout full of teeth, until Ginger calls them sick fucks and comes with John's name on his lips, falling face forward between John's cheeks right after that and licking him till John comes too, Tim holding him by his hair and telling him to give it to him right that second, John's broken, shattered face forever imprtinted into his memory by the nuclear blast.

Tim comes in his mouth a few minutes later, standing on his knees on the bed, towering over him and torturing his own cock, John mouthing at the tip with a smile and hooded eyes, Ginger having a seizure from long time of no exposure to this particular brand of voodoo all three of them are naturally talented at.

 

Tim lies on the bed on his back, limbs thrown wide, a cigarette in his mouth, feeling like a blissful shark sashimi, listening to Ginger asking John questions about his tour.

 _His fucking tour_ , Tim thinks. _His fucking tour that almost became the absolute end of us._

John decribes his outfits to Ginger and promises to play all of his new tunes to him later, Ginger asks him what he's been eating, Tim rolling his eyes at that and John saying 'mostly pussy', stupid moaning bastards kissing after that and discussing John's multiple cunnilingus stories, Ginger wanting to know all the names of the friends John's made and John saying they were all sweet people, but he really missed Ginger and his peanuts, both of them exchanging an eternal love confession after that.

Tim lights up another cigarette, puffing out the smoke.

"And how are you?" John asks, shifting a bit between them.

Ginger sighs.

"Ruined. Sucked dry and fucked raw and jerked off with fucking devices designed by Satan himself," Ginger says, shaking a bit at the word "devices", Tim starting to grin instantly. "Humiliated in front of a painter. Forced to give fisting. Slapped, obviously. Fuck. I am fucking ruined, John."

John laughs softly after that and they kiss, bed shaking underneath them a little.

"If you guys by any chance need a drummer, please, fucking tell me, I am begging you," Ginger whispers after they part.

"Hey!" Tim says, turning his head to look at them, his eyes landing on John's beautiful naked spine. "You can't run away from me, Ginger. I know where you fucking live."

"Hey yourself," John says, looking at him over the shoulder. "Stop eavesdropping, you horny motherfucking shark. We're doing our thing here."

Tim laughs, and Ginger laughs too.

"Well, I am in the same room," he says, touching John's back, John shivering slightly. "And I am fucking allowed anyway."

John moans, and Ginger kisses him.

"What's our plan?" John asks, when they part.

"Hm," Tim says, putting out his cigarette without looking. "Well, first our dead bodies spend three days rotting away in a cave."

John chuckles, pressing into him.

"And then, after we emerge, we entertain ourselves according to my devious plan."

Ginger groans.

"Shut up," Tim says, putting his arms around John, his hands meeting with Ginger's on his sweaty skin. "Let's fucking sleep already. We need to rest. We're on a tight fucking schedule for the next week or so."

They fall asleep pressed into each other, a happy pile of limbs, a shark grin on Tim's face, Ginger's pulse under his fingers, John warm and frankly perfect between them.

 

Friday

 

They don't fuck in the morning, because they are still unconscious in the morning, still pressed into each other, sweaty skin to sweaty skin, messy hair entangled with messy hair.

They wake up in the afternoon, and it takes them an hour to even get out of the bed. They drink Ginger's disgusting green tea and devour everything they can find in the fridge, sitting there and just looking at each other, faces wrinkled and pale, giggling all the time. Then Tim calls a cleaning crew and they go to John's house, because his is a fucking dumpster indeed.

John locks both of them in the bathroom once they get there, so Tim scrapes at Ginger's dirty skin and Ginger scrapes at his, doing that for an hour, Ginger with a dumb smile all over his face, Tim just getting hard. Tim drags John into the bath too, sitting on the edge, a cigarette in his mouth, and washing John's hair, rubbing his shoulders and pouring water over his head, John moaning and laughing, when Ginger, who sits on the toilet, watching them, says they really should redefine the concept of Nice Tim, because they've been having radically different experiences all this time. Tim tells him to shut his dumb face, quite possibly only further proving his point, but nobody seems to mind.

Tim doesn't feel like ransacking John's kitchen looking for salt, so they make a call and order some food in, stuffing their faces, Ginger and John talking again, discussing John's tour and their own miserable existence of the last three weeks, Tim with one of John's guitars in his hands, playing something to their mutual surprise, because he missed even that. He stops, though, when stupid moaning bastards start kissing and running their fingers over each other's skin, because all of them sit there naked, their filthy clothes in the washing machine.

John asks him if it is alright that they fuck without him, just the two of them, and Tim makes a wide gesture with his hand, saying 'by all means', and slides down in his chair, putting the guitar on the floor and lighting up a cigarette, anticipating a lot of sugary entertainment.

He isn't wrong in his premonition, both Ginger and John uttering 'I love you" for about fourteen billion times, John managing to squeeze 'I want to suck your cock' in there too and thus getting Tim's hopes up in a heartbeat.

Ginger, obviously, cannot refuse that, just like he cannot refuse anything, so John proceeds to suck him off, sinking onto the floor between Ginger's shaking legs and taking him into his mouth, Ginger looking down at him, running his fingers through his hair, whispering something Tim doesn't catch, John moaning around him, his fingers curling, back sides of his hands touching the floor, Tim sitting in his chair, legs spread wide, slapping his neglected cock once in a while and thinking of death and destruction.

John lifts his hands off the floor, runs them over Ginger's shaking thighs first and then starts touching his damn nipples, Tim spiraling into the sun that very second, trapped in a cascade of memories: discovery, confession, promise, fuck up, forgiveness, current fucking bliss. Ginger comes like that, looking down at John and never managing to fully pronounce his pretty short name. John straddles Ginger's thighs after that and they kiss, Ginger running his hands over John's naked spine and Tim watching him do that, his chest exploding, mouth dry, his own aching cock forgotten, Tim himself ready to call for fucking help. Then John whispers something and Ginger removes his hands off his back and starts rubbing at his hole instead, jerking him off too, John hugging his shoulders, lifting himself to give him better access, arching, whining, somehow being a virtuoso in saying Ginger somewhat longer name in its entirety and coming, shaking in his lap.

Tim accepts his own unconditional surrender at that moment and announces out loud that he is going to transfer all control functions of his massive nuclear arsenal into the hands of united fucking bastards some seconds later, staring at the ceiling, fingers digging painfully into the meat of his own thighs.

"What?" John asks in a breathy voice.

"I uh... I am not sure," Ginger says in a broken one, "but I think he says that he loves us back."

Tim looks at the pair, an enormous grin full of teeth on his shark snout, and beats off in front of them, slapping both his face and his cock, making them jump and grip each other's hands.

 

They follow their proud tradition and pass out ten minutes later in a steaming pile of limbs, Tim not really sure if they are three individual specimens of fucked up or just a bizarre radioactive creature, hugging both of the bastards nevertheless.

 

Saturday

 

Tim puffs out the smoke and sits up.

"I've been bad," he says, looking at John's beautiful face and Ginger's dumb pale one. "I hereby declare the next seven days the week of severe punishment and atonement."

 

He has to cook them breakfast in John's outrageous kitchen first, though, but then his devious plan is finally applied.

"I slap him and make him count," he says, sitting on the floor near the bed, looking at four feet in front of him, two of them pretty and with painted nails and other two sensitive and ridiculously kinky. "I never let him kiss me. I totally made him ride me till I came after he'd hurt his filthy fucking hole getting me in. I called him a foot fetishist in front of a very educated and well-mannered lady. I tell him when and how he's gonna come and I make him do it like an idiot, because that amuses me. I made him fuck himself with a tentacle dildo and I fed him the damn squid hundreds of times. Oh, and I also will most definitely steal all of your guitars and go on a hunting trip to shoot some cute baby lions, John. Now please fuck my face on Ginger's awesome cock."

John giggles.

"Sure," he says.

Tim lifts his head and smirks at him.

"Ginj, are you okay with that?" John asks, turning to Ginger, who is completely red and very, very hard. "I mean, he might throw up."

"Fuck," Ginger says. "Fucking atonement that is. I'm just gonna get ruined this week too."

 _And you are not wrong about that_ , Tim thinks, grinning.

"You sick fucks," Ginger continues. "Okay. Let him fucking vomit all over me."

 

Weirdly enough, Tim doesn't vomit.

He gets his throat fucked raw, John's angry helping hand pushing him onto Ginger's amazing fucking cock, John's giggling voice instructing him to breathe through his nose and calling him names, Tim thinking he is indeed both inventive and cruel, sneering with his A-bomb inwardly, his mouth being really occupied at the moment, Ginger wailing and most definitely getting ruined, coming boiling hot into Tim's fucked up shark trap.

It gets even better than that, because a few seconds later John pulls Tim's fucked face off Ginger's cock, grinning like mad, and tells him to give it to him, imitating his accent and slapping Tim's face a couple of times, jumping slightly at the touch, Ginger having a seizure and asking for the grace of death and Tim coming several moments later with John's cock in his mouth, John following him immediately afterwards.

Ginger spoils it a bit by kissing him and touching him with his shaking scared fucking fingers, but Tim cannot even protest, having lost his voice entirely.

 _Well, I'll just take it like he wants me to_ , he thinks to himself, smirking.

Ginger calls John a sick motherfucker and kisses him too.

Then all three of them go out, John dressed like a drag queen, Tim and Ginger confusing their clothes and ending up wearing each other's pants, Tim with a flask full of Ginger's green tea with mint, Ginger with a stupid smile all over his dumb face.

They go to a huge mall, where Ginger buys John a shit ton of make up, both of them giggling like teenagers, John flirting with shop assitants and with Ginger at the same time, Ginger floating in the upper atmosphere, Tim watching them, sipping the damn tea and holding a piece of paper with 'I sucked cock today and cannot talk' written on it in his hand in case anybody starts asking him questions, but sadly nobody does.

They watch a movie, sitting in a back row, stuffing their faces with popcorn and fries, and then, as if it wasn't enough, spend an hour on the bench in the park, eating doughnuts out of a box, John getting covered in sugar powder, Ginger gently touching his face, Tim still sipping the damn tea instead of smoking. After the doughnuts disappear they still stay on the bench, Ginger painting John's face with the make up they've got, John proceeding to straddle Ginger's thighs and kissing him for half an hour, Tim sitting next to them, sliding down, legs spread wide, showing his teeth and giving the middle finger to the most obnoxious spectators.

They get back to John's house when it is pretty late and hang out on the bed, John eating peanuts, lifting them off Ginger's palm with his mouth, Ginger asking him questions, Tim just looking at them and passing out eventually, feeling four arms hugging him in his sleep, dreaming of warm ocean full of magical creatures and John in really hot underwear swimming in it.

 

Monday

 

They don't fuck in the morning, Tim waking up because of his phone buzzing, picking up and hearing Brian's raspy voice demanding he haul his ass to the studio, telling him to fuck off with his equally rapsy one.

He goes to the studio after getting kissed way too many times, the moaning bastards promising to come to his place in the evening and order some mashed bullshit for him to suck through a straw before he gets back. Which is very appreciated, because Brian sinks his dirty teeth in his miserable shark body and doesn't let him go till it is dark.

Tim comes home, discovering it miraculously transformed from a disgusting dumpster into a temple of domestic fucking bliss, Ginger and John hugging on the couch, watching something stupid. He eats his mashed bullshit sitting on the floor next to them, all three of them migrating into the bedroom after a while, where Tim asks for more punishment and urges them to sixty nine in front of him.

Which they do, but not for long, because then he gets ideas, figuring he might as well die guilty and sinful, if it is pressed between John's cheeks, and it is exactly where he is after a few minutes of watching.

John starts moaning within seconds, somehow losing his multitasking abilities, and lets go of Ginger's cock, arching his beautiful naked spine instead, Tim licking into him, pushing Ginger's head up and choking him on John's cock, thinking if he is going to die guilty and sinful anyway it might as well be when doing that too. John comes in Ginger's mouth after a few minutes, his hole hot and pulsing under Tim's tongue. Then Tim's efforts are gratified by the sight of Ginger's fucked up lips and eyes gone black. He hauls him up by his hair and makes him sit on the edge of the bed, John sinking on his knees in one smooth and filthy motion and sucking his cock, Tim sitting behind Ginger and doing something he's never done before: being tender with him.

Which, of course, just ruins Ginger in the most magnificent way.

Tim combs his hair and kisses his neck and rubs his shoulders and sucks his earlobe, Ginger shaking in his arms and moaning deep and low, Tim moving his hands down and brushing against his nipples like he's seen John do, whispering the names of radioactive elements into his ear, Ginger shuddering, sobbing and coming into John's mouth, Tim kissing him all the way through his orgasm.

He even listens to fourteen billions love declarations afterwards, hugging the squid jelly and puffing out the smoke, his cock still stiff and miserable, John playing his guitar he's brought with him and giggling, looking at them.

 

 _I am a Nice motherfucking Tim_ , he thinks with a smile before passing out, both moaning bastards curled up around him.

 

 

Tuesday

 

They don't fuck in the morning, because this time Ginger's phone starts buzzing, Brian demanding his sorry ass at the studio, and when they are having breakfast John gets a call from the guys he's been touring with as well, so the three of them part for the best part of the day, Tim going running, doing some work on his computer and looking for the dildos they've bought with Ginger around his unbelievably clean house.

He is in the middle of his hunt when he gets a call from John, who tells him Ginger earned himself an early release and is currently at his place, adding that both of them will be very happy to see him too.  
Tim searches for dildos some more, never finding them, but locating the rope instead, smirking upon seeing it and thinking that would work too.

He is greeted by some jumping and hand clapping in the corridor and some horror in the room, which he absolves by assuring the terrified squid he is the one who is going to be tied up and pathetic.

They order some food and John plays his new tunes for them before commencing. Tim has to instruct the moaning bastards on how to make him suffer, Ginger not being very helpful and John a diligent student with a taste for insulting him and giggling. When he is all done and miserable in ties that are a bit too tight John gets even dirtier and puts his hideous scarf over his eyes.

There is a brief period of Tim getting his cock licked and wondering who of the moaning bastards is doing that, but then his cock gets sucked in deep with a whine and he instantly knows it is John, a warm breaking breath touching his lips a few seconds after that just to confirm the arrangement.

"Can I kiss you?" Ginger asks, whispering, while John makes noises around Tim's cock.

"Well, I am fucking tied up," Tim says, chuckling. "I am completely at your mercy, Ginj."

Ginger kisses him, devouring his fucking face, his tender loving tentacles scraping his scalp, Tim struggling and pulling at the rope, moaning into his mouth, John outdoing himself down there, and it is definitely more than two motherfucking times.

"Cock," Tim manages to squeeze in between the kisses, feeling his orgasm building up, and maybe he is not being very accessible in his self-expression, but Ginger seems to get him just fine, shifting and stuffing his wide open mouth with his cock.

He comes twenty seconds later, John choking himself on him, Ginger staying where he was and letting Tim suck him off, tilting his head awkwardly and straining his muscles, till Ginger comes hot in his mouth, producing a delightfully muffled 'Fuck, Tim' from above.

John's jittery fingers take the scarf off his eyes in a couple of seconds, John's smiling face appearing before him.

"This is fucking hot," John says. "Ginger's gonna suck me off, okay?"

"Sure," Tim says, chuckling. "I'm gonna just chill out here in the mean time."

They share a brief moment of smirking at each other, partners in crime, and then John sits right next to his head and asks Ginger to take him into his mouth, Ginger complying, his feverish face getting full of cock in mere centimeters from Tim's bloodthirsty snout with teeth that aren't much help to him now.

He stares at Ginger's soft wet lips around John's cock, his eyes still black, red spots still on his cheeks, John giggling above them, Ginger moaning, Tim thinking they so have to do it again but without letting him come, just leaving him to watch them all tied up with his cock forsaken just like the pair of them was not so long ago and his mouth stuffed with John's underwear, because this is some impeccable suffering and he totally needs more of that in his life.

John comes with Ginger's name on his lips, moaning deep and low above them, Ginger looking at Tim, completely lost in the woods, Tim's chest melting, mouth dry, fists clenching tight.

 

When they untie him quite a while later, John putting a cigarette in his mouth first and Tim telling him he wants to stay an oversized Bavarian sausage forever, Ginger calling them sick fucks, John laughing and Tim not uttering a single word to help them along with releasing him, when he is free and boneless on the bed he catches John's hand with his numb one and kisses it.

"Blessed be your cruel spaghetti fingers," he says, grinning, and then all three of them pass out on the bed, the moaning bastards hugging his tortured body, pressed into him, Tim dreaming of being chopped and served as sashimi.

 

 

Wednesday

 

They fuck in the morning.

They fuck gloriously.

 

"Breakfast?" John asks, sitting up and yawning.

"Nope," Tim says, shaking his head. "Coffee and smokes. Then my hole gets impaled on your cocks."

"Fucking hell," Ginger says, choking on his own breath. "We've just woken up."

"Well, I've been watching very inspiring dreams all night," Tim says, getting up and going to take a leak.

 

"And Tim said, let there be anal," Tim announces, panting, trying hard not to laugh. "And there it was."

John whines miserably under him.

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says behind him, voice breaking.

"And Tim saw anus, that it was good," Tim continues. "That it was oh so stretched."

"Fucking hell," Ginger says, his hand shaking on Tim's shoulder. "I fucking hate you."

John whines again.

"Ginj," he gasps out. "Just slam into him. Just bend him over and fuck him. Just kill the motherfucker."

 

The last thing Tim thinks after that is that John is quite possibly capable of divine inspiration, because Ginger groans and indeed bends him, Tim landing into John's arms, his angry hands holding him tight, and slams into him, all three of them moaning, Tim turning into a fireball of nuclear explosion gas that very instant.

He isn't sure how long the whole thing lasts, Ginger cursing and sobbing behind him, John digging his fingers into his arms and promising he's going to throttle him once they come, Tim shaking and torn apart and undone between them.

Maybe it is fourteen billion years.

Maybe it is but a fraction of a second, reflection of a distant memory in the mirror.

Maybe there isn't time at all.

 

He knows there are some glorious orgasms, though, Ginger coming first, saying he loves him and then pushing his head down with his shaking hand, another one gripping his shoulder hard, letting John fuck into him, angry thrusts into his burning hole hapenning over and over again, until Tim comes, sobbing into the pillow under John's head, John spilling into him a bit later, his cruel fingers squeezing his hips tight.

 _I am so getting thrown out of the house again_ , Tim thinks afterwards, lying completely broken in the middle of the battle field surrounded by other dead bodies - and it is not even noon.

 

He is wrong about that.

The moaning bastards try to scoop him off the bed, but to no avail, so he gets left at John's, both of them kissing his grinning snout goodbye and going out to spend the day drowning in sugar. He kills a couple of hours lying on the bed like a fucked up pentagram, smoking and looking at the ceiling.

He manages to get up and goes to his own place, when his stomach starts growling, eats and then does some work, standing near his computer, unable to sit and chuckling from time to time. He calls the bastards when it gets dark, and they tell him they're going to stay at Ginger's for the night and see him tomorrow, because he is horrible and useless anyway.

Tim walks around the house for several more hours, listening to music, finally locating both the dildos and the fleshjack, sleeping alone in his bed, his limbs thrown wide, face pressed into the pillow, feeling like he is the ocean itself.

 

 

Thursday

 

"Wow," John whispers. "What's that?"

"Shit," Ginger whispers too. "He fucking found it."

 

Tim wakes up gradually, hearing their soft voices, feeling their warm bodies next to him.

"Morning," he says into the pillow. "Please flip this dead shark over. I need to be properly roasted from both sides."

There are four hands turning his wretched body.

Two of them are angry.

Two of them are scared.

"Smoke," he says, looking at John's beautiful face.

Ginger puts a cigarette in his mouth and lights it up.

"Thanks," he says, turning to look at Ginger too. "How's the spider summer resort doing?"

"It's actually alright for now," Ginger says, lighting up another cigarette for himself.

"Why are you sleeping next to a mouth in a tube?" John asks, his feet swinging in the air.

Tim laughs.

"Oh, that's for you to stuff with Ginger's awesome cock," he says. "Which is totally getting hard right now, by the way."

"Fuck off," Ginger says, lying next to him, his head on Tim's shoulder.

"But we'll do it later," Tim says, looking back at John, who is chewing some peanuts. "Now I need to know what you want from your shark god today."

John chuckles.

"Karaoke and then your amazing meatballs Ginger told me about. Oh, and brush my hair."

"Alright," Tim says, puffing out the smoke with a smile. "Squid?"

"Fuck you," Ginger says.

"Come on. Atomic number of plutonium is 94."

John laughs.

"You're such a shit," he says.

Ginger sits up and looks down at Tim.

"Come on. Atomic weight of plutonium is 238. What do you want?"

Ginger shrugs.

"Kiss?" Tim asks, smirking at him.

"Fuck you," Ginger says, takes away his cigarette and devours his face for ten solid minutes.

 

Four hands pull Tim off the bed, and after he downs approximately fourteen billion litres of coffee he indeed brushes John hair for half an hour, John moaning in his arms, Ginger holding his hands, Tim whistling John's new tunes.

Then they go to karaoke and embarrass themselves.

Then Tim buys twelve doughnuts which they eat out of a box sitting on a bench.

Then they drive around the city, windows rolled down, John's recently brushed hair getting fucked up by the wind, John himself fiddling with the radio, Ginger lying on the back seat, his bare feet sticking out of the window in what Tim figures just must be an exhibitionist part of his fetish.

Then they go to a supermarket, Tim picking out stuff he needs for meatballs, John flirting with shop assistants and Ginger touching Tim's hands with his scared fingers.

He cooks for them, all three of them sitting in the kitchen, Ginger brushing John's hair again, Tim smoking and narrating the recipe in Swedish for John's continuous amusement.

Then for quite some time none of them can move.

 

"Hey, do you happen to have your black lipstick on you?" Tim asks, sitting up and looking at John's beautiful stuffed face.

Ginger groans.

"Yeah, why?"

"For the fleshjack," Tim explains, getting up. "Ginger's gonna get awkward and come like you've never seen before."

John giggles, also sitting up.

"Okay, I am in."

Ginger groans again.

"Told you," Tim says, lifting him up off the floor too. "You think he's a sweetheart, but he's filthy."

 

"You sick motherfuckers," Ginger says, shuddering between them. "This is fucking weird."

"This is fucking hot," John says, looking at his cock disappearing in the rubber mouth smeared in black lipstick. "You're fucking hot."

Tim says nothing, just lifting Ginger's hair and licking his neck.

"Fuck," Ginger spits out. "I'm gonna come."

"Nope," Tim says. "John, slow down."

John laughs and kisses Ginger.

"Tim, this is awesome," he says, when they part, and starts moving his hand again. "I fucking love you."

Tim says nothing, touching Ginger's nipples instead.

Ginger moans, rapidly becoming squid goo.

"John, you really are a fucking traitor," he says, panting.

John laughs again.

"I fucking love you too, Ginj," he says. "This is hot. Wanna see you come in that thing."

Tim says nothing, licking his thumb and circling Ginger's lips.

 _Because all of John's wishes should be granted_ , he thinks, his chest purring.

 

Ginger comes five long minutes later, clenching the sheets, sweaty and shaking, his head lolling back, Tim licking his gulping throat, John holding him in place by his hair.

"Any requests?" Tim asks, when Ginger finally opens his eyes. "We still have two aching cocks ready for torture."

"Give me a fucking smoke," Ginger says, sitting up. "I'll sit in a chair, smirking, and pretend I am a giant nuclear asshole."

 

Tim sucks John off, standing on his knees, John towering over him and guiding his head, Ginger kissing his back and rubbing his hole without any lube, Tim choking and shaking with jabs of pain travelling through his exploding body. John comes into his mouth with his name on his lips and no giggling, things turning serious, and Tim comes into his own fist, beating off in front of John, his hand still pulling his hair, his beautiful face flushed, Ginger pressed into Tim from behind, his soft lips on the back of his neck, the molten plasma of his body engulfing him.

 

"We also bought two dildos," Tim says, grinning at John over Ginger's dead body, a cigarette in his mouth, John eating peanuts, his feet in the air.

"Tomorrow," John says, grinning back.

 

 

Friday

 

"I think this time it is gone for good," John says, sitting in Ginger's lap, fingers playing with his hair.

"Damn," Tim says, putting the plates in front of them. "I had this fantasy, you know, all three of us sitting on cocks in a circle. Maybe a severed pig's head in the middle. Like a coven of witches, but with pleasant anal sensations."

Ginger groans, and John chuckles.

"You're crazy," he says, picking up the fork and lifting it up to Ginger's mouth. "Here. Sorry for yesterday."

Ginger chews the eggs and sighs.

"Don't blame John," Tim says, lighting up a cigarette and taking a sip from his coffee. "It's all me. I spoiled him. Remember how fresh and innocent he was before I touched him with my filthy hands?"

Ginger laughs.

"He hadn't even had a threesome before that," Tim says, starting to eat too.

"Fuck you," John says, trying to kick him with his foot.

"Anyway, I am still screwed in the relevant area," Tim continues. "So two is enough for today. Fucking space dildo can chill out with its relatives in the Milky Way for now."

"Jesus," Ginger says, his mouth full. "How fucking horny are you? Damn, these eggs are good."

John giggles.

"In the evening, though, alright?" he asks. "I wanna play first."

"Sure," Tim says. "We're gonna read something with squid here. Fuck, we can read together now. Fuck, it is so good to have a supervisor."

Ginger laughs and licks his fingers.

"Boring book worms," John says.

"Whining guitar jerk," Tim says, taking their plates away.

 

They spend the day together, Tim reading with Ginger on the couch, John shredding like crazy in the bedroom for three hours. They go out for lunch, John drinking two chocolate milkshakes, being pretty, Tim and Ginger throwing dirty napkins at each other. They walk around in circles for two more hours after that, bumping into people, both John's and Ginger's hands in Tim's pockets. They go home and Tim does some work, sitting at his computer, answering letters and listening to samples, Ginger and John watching something on the TV, or at least that's what he thinks they are doing, because John's hand suddenly landing on his shoulder is a surprise.

"Come on," John says, taking the mouse away from him. "We want you to order us around."

Tim chuckles and gets up, John dragging him into the bedroom, barefoot and already naked, Ginger sitting on the bed with his cock out.

"Sneaky bastards," Tim says, throwing dildos onto the mattress.

Ginger licks his lips, John laughing and undressing him.

"Which one do you want?" John asks, kissing Ginger. "Can I have the tentacle? It's fucking hot."

"Fuck," Ginger says, red spots appearing on his face. "Yeah. Sure."

Tim sits down next to them.

"Can I stretch you?" John asks, touching Ginger's cock.

Ginger shivers.

"I uh... I don't know."

"Tim?"

"Yeah, I'll be here," Tim says, lighting up a cigarette. "Gonna talk about Ginger's shit. Decide when he gets to come. Stare at your beautiful face. You know, the usual. Not to worry."

Both Ginger and John laugh at that.

"Okay," Ginger says, sitting in front of John. "We can try."

"Cool," John says, opening the lube. "You do me and I'll do you. And Tim'll just sit here with his stiff cock and suffer."

Tim snorts, watching John pouring lube on Ginger's fingers and spreading his knees a bit, Ginger dropping his hand between them and rubbing at him, mouth falling open.

John moans.

"Kiss me," he says, and Ginger does, John starting rocking his hips slowly.

Tim looks at them, feeling nuclear fluttering in his chest.

They part and John pours lube on his own fingers. Ginger shivers at the touch and swallows hard.

"You're so damn hot," John says, smiling at him.

"And so full of crap," Tim says, puffing out the smoke.

Ginger just gasps, his free hand clenching the sheets, John moving his hips, fucking himself on his fingers and pressing his own into him.

"Fuck, Ginj," he says, voice breaking. "You're so fucking tight."

"Because of all the filth you have up there," Tim adds, looking at Ginger's eyes going black, his mouth getting dry.

"Fuck, John," Ginger says and shivers several times. "I uh... Can you... Can Tim do that?"

"Sure," John says, starting to shift away.

"Wait," Tim says, his hand landing on Ginger's shoulder. "We're gonna do it together, alright? There's definitely enough shit in your miserable orifice for both of us, Ginger."

Ginger moans, and then moans again, even louder, when Tim pushes his fingers alongside John's into him.

"Fuck," he says.

"Yeah, that's kinda how I feel when you two fuck me," Tim says, chuckling. "But with more gaping, you know. And less filth."

John whines and kisses Ginger's open mouth.

"You, Ginger, are exceptionally full of filth," Tim continues, once they part. "Gonna put that glass dildo up your hole now, okay? You'll fuck your shit on it for me and John here."

Ginger shakes, Tim's hand sliding down his shoulder.

"Fuck," John says. "I need to get fucked right now. This is hot. I fucking love both of you."

He pulls out his fingers, Ginger shivering at that, Tim pushing deeper into him, and grabs the dildo, pouring lube on it.

"Ginj," Tim says, pulling at Ginger's hair. "We're gonna watch. We're gonna watch John fucking himself on your severed tentacle."

Ginger moans. John whines and swears, lowering himself on the dildo, grabbing Ginger's shaking shoulder for leverage.

"Fucking hell, John," Tim says, baring his teeth, a teasing smile forming on John's lips. "Come on. Give us a bit of a show here. Fuck."

John starts moving, smiling at both of them, Ginger gasping, his hole clenching around Tim's fingers, Tim pulling at his hair hard.

"Fuck," Tim spits out thirty seconds later. "Stop. Fucking hell. I'm gonna come in my fucking pants here. Come on, Ginger. Let's get your shit fucked too. Wanna see both of you coming on cocks."

John stops, whining, Tim grabs the glass dildo and pours lube on it, Ginger lifting his hips a bit, shaking and touching John's hand.

"Okay, here you go," Tim says, pressing the dildo against Ginger's hole. "Fucking careful, alright? Don't freak John out. You only get to have your shitdam broken when we're alone in the room and unreasonable."

"Fuck," John gasps out. "Tim."

"Yeah, I know," Tim says, smirking, pushing the dildo into Ginger, Ginger moaning with an open mouth. "Fucking kiss him before he loses his damn mind."

The bastards kiss, John grabbing Ginger by the arms and nudging him to move, rocking his own hips too, Tim letting go of Ginger's shoulder and looking at him stumbling on cock like an awkward fuck he is, hot dense mass rising up in his chest.

They part, John holding Ginger's feverish face in both his hands and smiling at him.

"You're fucking hot," he says. "I love you. This is so good. Fuck, this is so good. Let's get ruined, okay? Let's get ruined together for Tim, okay?"

Tim grins, clenching his fists and touching his teeth with his tongue. Ginger moans something at John, his mouth open, lips soft and wet, moving his hips, his hands holding John's hips tight.

They start kissing again after several seconds, moaning into each other mouths, riding the dildos, John moving like a filthy liquid, demonstrating his unbelievable motherfucking skills, Ginger flapping like a flag, suspended in thin air, pathetic, Tim sitting there, watching them, stiff, suffering, bloodthirsty, happy, thinking these two fucks are most definitely going to be the absolute end of him and soon.

Not that he minds.

John comes first, Ginger's hand around his cock, John's face pressed into his shaking shoulder. Ginger comes just a bit later, when Tim tells him to, pulling at his hair, John whining and looking at Ginger's miserable shattering face, Tim tasting blood in his mouth. Tim comes a few minutes after that, beating off looking at the steaming mess next to him, biting his own hand hard, chest burning hot.

 

All three of them lie on the bed for an hour, Tim smoking and combing Ginger's wet hair, the moaning bastards hugging and doing their whispery thing, until John says he's starving.

Tim makes dinner for all of them, John sitting in Ginger's lap again, putting a cigarette into his mouth now and then, letting him take a drag, and then they stuff their blissful faces, Tim standing up, leaning on the table, and moaning bastards feeding each other.

"Hey," Tim says. "Almost forgot."

"Uhum?" both of the stupid moanings bastards ask with full mouths.

"The week of severe punishment is over. Tomorrow the new one starts. The week of everlasting pleasure, joy and imminent diabetes."

The bastards laugh.

"I have a feeling I will be getting ruined again," Ginger says, looking up at him, his face pale and tired.

"What's the plan?" John asks, getting excited.

"Well, I have an idea. Just give me a minute," Tim says, takes out his phone and dials. "Jules? Good evening. Yeah, mister Skold here. Remember the guy that got me and Kenny heartbroken? Yeah. Well, he's back. How about you come to his place tomorrow? I'll send you the address. He's gonna play some amazing Spanish guitar for you, and then we'll paint his face and he'll eat you out. He's very well-trained. Yeah, me and Kenny will be providing you with some oral entertainment of our own too. Alright. Thanks, Jules, you're the best. See you."

 

He hangs up, lighting up a cigarette and looking at John's confused beatuful face, then at Ginger's miserable martyr stupid one.

"We're so having a foursome tomorrow," Tim says, grinning with his shark trap full of teeth. "Anything else you want?"

 

 

____________________________________________

So in my mind this is set two years after Tim joined the band and John has recently left it and gone on tour with his own band/zombie/whatever. But if that upsets you feel free to imagine that he hasn't and just touring solo while still in the band with the guys. It is just a story, after all. Also time is a complicated philosophical issue and all of your wishes should totally be granted. :)


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